The detective stood alone in the middle of the room, the rest, at
his request, remained at the threshold, and looking keenly about
him, searched for some explanation of the frightful disorder of the
apartment.

"Fools!" cried he, in an irritated tone, "double brutes! Because
they murder people so as to rob them, is no reason why they should
break everything in the house. Sharp folks don't smash up furniture;
they carry pretty picklocks, which work well and make no noise.
Idiots! one would say--"

He stopped with his mouth wide open.

"Eh! Not so bungling, after all, perhaps."

The witnesses of this scene remained motionless at the door,
following, with an interest mingled with surprise, the detective's
movements.

Kneeling down, he passed his flat palm over the thick carpet, among
the broken porcelain.

"It's damp; very damp. The tea was not all drunk, it seems, when
the cups were broken."

"Some tea might have remained in the teapot," suggested Plantat.

"I know it," answered M. Lecoq, "just what I was going to say. So
that this dampness cannot tell us the exact moment when the crime
was committed."